“Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life – well, valuable, but small – and sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven’t been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn’t it be the other way around? I don’t really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. So good night, dear void.”
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The other day I was looking through some of my old art journals and as I was scanning their pages, a torn piece of paper slipped out of the journal and fell onto my lap. The writing was barely discernible, but I found this little poem etched in ink. For awhile I couldn’t remember the inspiration for writing the poem, but I finally remembered: I had been sitting in a crowded coffee shop reading. Out of the blew, in my mind, I had a very vivid and intense picture of a baby still in its mothers womb. I knew the parents had decided to abort the baby, and the baby only had a few more hours to live. This mental picture had a strong effect on me so in the middle of the crowded room, I quickly grabbed a piece of paper and etched down these words. The poem is abrupt and disconnect, but I’m going to keep it in its original form and not mess with it.
Sinking into a blank oblivion
amidst the hum of sub conscience.
Purposeful drifting, trying to forget
the pain of knowing
Knowing you’ve forgotten
Knowing you’ve left me to fight on my own
Knowing you aren’t beside me
Knowing your purposeful neglect.
Consigning yourself to oblivion,
you watch me fall
drop by drop
from memory, forever
omitted from your wide shut eye.
Build me a home in this blackness,
where forgetting comes easy
where time runs in circles,
this darkness where I belong.
Leave me in the numbness of thought
Let me forget the
There we sat gazing
at the channels of light
that painted wishes in our eyes.
You held the sun with your hands
holding up our dreams.
Hiding our sadness with its
that burned our thoughts.
But, just like
Perfection never lasts…
it is too delicate a thing.
maybe that is why it was so beautiful.
(photo courtesy: Jacob Van Lennepkade)
“Her life was a slow realization that the world was not for her and that for whatever reason she would never be happy and honest at the same time. She felt as if she were brimming always producing and hoarding more love inside her. But there was no release. Table ivory elephant charm rainbow onion hairdo violence melodrama honey…None of it moved her. She addressed the world honestly searching for something deserving of the volumes of love she knew she had within her but to each she would have to say, I don’t love you…” – Jonathan Safran Foer
(photo courtesy of pigmented.flickr)